You would think I would learn that there is such a thing as inappropriate language around children. I mean, I have two kids. And they are boys. If anyone is going to pick up a bad habit, it is the male of the species (and you know I am right). It’s not as if my mother walked around spouting obscenities like a leaky faucet (the way I apparently do these days). It’s not like I was always this way. But lately, for some reason, if it is obscene, I like to say it. I mean, my blog is called FOUL MOUTHED HOOLIGANS. Cussing, swearing, cursing, whatever you call it, I seem to say it. But still — I really need to watch my mouth.

Case in point — today we were walking home from school, ominous storm clouds hanging barely three inches above our heads. It clearly was about to pour any second, and we all had but moments to make the half mile trek back to the house. So I was in a hurry. In front of me was, for some reason, a group of junior high age children. My son’s school only goes to 4th grade, and none of these kids were riding their bikes along side a younger sibling, so why they were hanging out at the elementary school I do not know, nor do I care. What I did care about was their pace. Seems they wanted to hog up the sidewalk and push their bikes forward as slowly as possible, and ALL THE LIVE LONG DAY. Children. Speed up already.

We got caught up. I waited a moment, and they started again. Then we got to the corner. The crossing guards swiftly and with some sense of authority held up their cardboard stop signs and marched into the road, stopping the parade of minivans and paneled station wagons driven by parents who were clearly smarter than I (because of the rain). Yet still, on the corner we stood. I counted. One. Two. Three. Four. A few raindrops struck my forehead. Five.

“Let’s go kids! Move it!” I shout in my most motherly tone.

The kids slowly pick it up, and across the street we go. Next to me, slowly peddling a bike, is young Kayla from next door. She is about 13, and was there picking up her brother and sister, who are twins in 1st grade. Of course, it could have been Kirsten — they are also twins (yes, their mom has TWO sets of twins. *shudder*). But this particular girl had a seriously dorky boy following her, and I know that boy has a crush on Kayla, so I assume it was her. Of course, later I saw him touch the other one on the back. I think he was trying to snap her bra, because seventh grade boys are still disgusting. So who knows which girl I was actually speaking with.

Anyway, Kayla/Kirsten said to me about the kids who had been holding up the lines, “Those kids said they were going to go really slow in front of us… on purpose!”

So I say, naturally, “So, you want me to kick their asses?”

Yes — I offered a tween my services if she wanted to see other tweens get beaten up. By me. And I am an adult.

Kayla/Kirsten looks at me and says, very seriously, “You’re the coolest parent I know.”